


Follow Your Soul

by Aglarien



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aglarien/pseuds/Aglarien
Summary: A little tale of Círdan and Gil-galad and their elven rings.





	Follow Your Soul

Disclaimer: I neither own these characters nor profit from them.  
Timeline: In the early centuries of the Second Age.  
Beta: phyncke  
Author's Notes: Written for Alex for My Slashy Valentine 2010. Request: Humor, light hearted romance, the elven rings, mostly canon-ish, fluff.  
The poem Gil-galad recites is "I Would Live in Your Love," by Sara Teasdale

 

“Have you heard from Elrond?” Círdan lounged on the chaise in Gil-galad’s private sitting room, twirling his wine glass between his long fingers.

“Spill that and you’ll pay for the new upholstery, old one,” the high king quipped. “Nothing recently, but I do not sense that anything evil has happened to him, so I am content.”

Círdan’s laugh was short and raw, but his eyes sparkled with merriment. “Old one? I may be considerably older than you, my young king, but I am hardly in my dotage.” He finished his wine in one gulp and grabbed the open bottle from the floor for a refill.

“No? Pray, tell me then, what are those wisps of grey that adorn your face?” Gil-galad finished his writing, lay down his quill, and joined Círdan on the chaise with his own wine glass. “Shove over,” he said, lightly tapping Círdan’s knee.

“The air of Vilya has blown the sense out of your head, Ereinion. You know full well my hair is silver, as was my kinsman Thingol’s.”

“Thingol didn’t have a beard.” Gil-galad stretched out alongside the tall figure and got comfortable. “’Tis a shame the fire of Narya seems to have scorched your brain.” He stretched out elegant fingers and observed the gold and sapphire on his hand. He had not had the ring long, and sometimes it still felt foreign – like now.

“Perhaps that is so,” Círdan said softly. “I do not know why I alone have a beard. I thought it was perhaps because of my age, but there are beardless others who are now older than I was when it first grew.” 

“Undoubtedly the Valar were experimenting with you, oldest of the old,” Gil-galad said. 

Círdan looked at the great ruby ring he wore. “I wonder what will become of these rings,” he mused. “Eru help us if Sauron discovers their whereabouts.”

“You have the gift of foresight. Have you seen nothing?”

“No, not really. Although I have a feeling that neither of us will be wearing these in the final days.”

Gil-galad nodded and downed half of his wine in one swallow. “I have been thinking to give Vilya to Elrond. Her strength will help him protect Imladris, and it is safer….”

“…not to have two of them in the same place,” Círdan finished for him. “A wise plan, young one. Nenya with Galadriel, Vilya with Elrond, and Narya here. Will you take Narya and wear it, Ereinion? For me?”

The king shook his head. “You’ve as much right to it as I – or more,” he replied. “It is enough that it is here, in this realm. I have no desire for any ring other than the one you placed on my finger so many years ago.” He looked at the golden band on his right index finger and smiled. He was quite sure that no one expected him to fall in love with Círdan when he had been left as a child in the ancient mariner’s care. 

Círdan moved his head to softly kiss Gil-galad’s brow. “Nor I of any ring other than yours. I will wear Narya then, unless someone stronger and more deserving has need of it.” He sighed, a hint of sorrow in the sound. 

“Do not grieve yet, old one,” Gil-galad said affectionately. “It is many years before you foresee our separation. We both know it will be me who will depart from these shores first.”

“And I know you will be waiting for me when I finally sail, but I know it will be long years before we are together again,” Círdan replied sadly. Changing the subject, he asked, “What was it you wrote in your book?” He glanced at the desk. 

The king suddenly grinned. “It is the beginning of a poem. A poem about love. For my lover.” 

“Really?” Círdan asked, an answering grin on his face. “Perhaps you should share it with me. I might want to steal it and sing it to my love. What are the first lines?”

“I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea, borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes,” Gil-galad recited. 

“Charming,” Círdan said, trying to suppress a broad smile. “Utterly delightful. It conjures a lovely picture in the mind. A most fitting ode for someone like a….ship builder, or a sailor perhaps? Is there more?”

“Most fitting for a sailor,” Gil-galad said, sipping at his wine. “Yes, there is more. Would you like to hear it?”

“I cannot wait to hear more.”

“I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me, I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads.”

“I love you, Ereinion,” Círdan said softly.

“As I love you,” Gil-galad said. The king downed the rest of his wine and snuggled next to the shipwright, eyes closing, and rested his head next to Círdan’s, his face against the soft, silver beard. 

“What are you doing?” Círdan asked, a hint of laughter in his voice. “The bed is merely a room away, and there are pillows more plump than my beard and softer than my boney shoulder.”

“You are comfortable,” the king said quietly, not bothering to open his eyes. “Just let me rest here beside you for a while.” Gil-galad’s voice trailed off into a soft snore.

“And I would follow your soul as it leads, my star,” Círdan whispered. He set his glass on the floor and wrapped his arms around his lover, holding him closely, warmly, Ereinion’s face buried his beard. 

 

~Many centuries later~

The tall, silver-haired elf stood at the helm of the white ship, keen eyes scanning the shore. Finally spying the figure he sought, a gasp broke from his drawn lips.

“Do you see him, Círdan? Do you see? There he is!” Elrond fairly bounced beside the slender Telerin. A lone figure stood away from the bustling crowd waiting on the docks, at the crest of a small hill. Tall and dark-haired, his silver robes and long ebony hair billowed out in the sea breeze. 

“Who is it?” Frodo asked, having pushed through crowd of elves on board the last ship to gain a view of the shore.

Círdan face lit up in a broad smile. “That, my young hobbit, is the mighty Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor!”

“Oh!” the hobbit exclaimed in amazement. Never had he expected to see the great King Gil-galad.

When the ship had docked and Círdan had seen everyone off and into the arms of their awaiting families, he strode up the hill, heart pounding in anticipation.

“It’s about time you came home, old one” Ereinion said, his lips forming a quirky smile.

Círdan stopped an arms-length away, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “You look the same as you did three thousand years ago,” he said huskily.

“You look the same as you did when I fell in love with you,” Ereinion said, his own eyes blurring. “Just more tired. Was it hard for you?”

“No more for me than any of the others,” the shipwright answered. 

The two stood in silence broken only by the rustle of the breeze through the trees and the cries of the seagulls.

“You still wear my ring,” Círdan finally said. “I wondered if…how it would be…when you are made anew. How is it that it still exists?”

Ereinion looked at his ring, fingered it, and shook his head. “I know not, only that I would not be me without your ring on my finger.” His eyes dropped to Círdan’s hands. “You still wear mine, but not Narya, I see.”

“I gave Narya to the Maia Olórin when he came to Middle-earth. His tasks were greater than mine,” Círdan replied. “Of course I still wear your ring,” he added in a softer voice. “How could I not?”

“You still love me then?”

Círdan smiled, the tears in his eyes finally beginning to leave glossy trails down his cheeks. “I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea, borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes,” he sang, his voice proclaiming the heritage of the Teleri, the Lindar, the Singers. “I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me, I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads.”

Ereinion’s heart swelled and he reached out and took Círdan’s hand into his own, pulling him into an embrace that was as warm and tender as those of long ago. “I have missed you, old one,” he whispered, burying his face in Círdan’s soft silver beard. “I love you so.”

“I love you, young one, my star,” Círdan whispered as he held the former high king close.

Long moments passed before Ereinion lifted his head and stood straight. He took Círdan’s rough-hewn hand into his own once more and said, “Come, my mariner, my love. It is time to go home.”

~the end


End file.
